The wall

The wall is to the street of midnight,a bit of the night, a tiny world, a dog with a nightly bark in liquid throat.It is to scraps of men, to birds in sleep on the distance of branches, their chicks warm to the twigs, feathers in making.

The wall is a vague obstacle to the night, to fears of decay, opening in a window ,nothing but a hole for escape.The wall exists because and for escape .Because you cannot climb emptiness.

The wall is curtain to dark from light , hole for escape, a climb with a leg .It is a scrape of skin, escape from itself, a burst from body, its walls painted on the outer of inner rushing rivers .The wall contains a monsoon burst.

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